


Hit Me Harder

by stratumgermanitivum



Series: The Rules [3]
Category: Adam (2009), Charlie Countryman (2013)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Belts, Break Up, Chastity Device, Domestic Discipline, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, Drunkenness, Getting Back Together, Infidelity, Lack of Communication, M/M, More warnings in chapters, Spanking, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:54:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22053613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stratumgermanitivum/pseuds/stratumgermanitivum
Summary: There are rules to their relationship. Those are not on the fridge, though Nigel has joked about putting them there. Adam found rules useful for stability long before Nigel, but having Nigel there to enforce them made it even better. There’s someone else to hold Adam accountable, and keep him going. Someone else to reward or punish depending on how well Adam is doing.  Before, the consequences for breaking a rule involved messing up the schedule, sending Adam off kilter, his mind spinning out of control. Now, consequences were a bit more physical.But slowly, surely, thing have started to strain, to twist slightly out of control. And then Nigel messes up.Badly.
Relationships: Nigel (Charlie Countryman)/Adam Raki
Series: The Rules [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1108461
Comments: 63
Kudos: 217





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ishxallxgood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ishxallxgood/gifts).



> This fic takes place several months after Changing The Rules, and will not make sense if you haven't read that one. (Rulebreaker is kind of outside the timeline. I love it too much to separate it from the series, but the story has definitely changed since I wrote it.)
> 
> hey remember last fic when I was like THIS IS GONNA BE UNHEALTHY CANON NIGEL AND BAD and then Nigel turned into a big softy?
> 
> yeah, unhealthy canon Nigel is back. Please read with caution.

Nigel is late.

This happens sometimes. Nigel does not have the same creeping, itching urge to be on time that Adam does, that deep-seated worry that lateness will throw off his schedule and throw off his life. Nigel doesn’t even really _have_ a schedule. He has ‘business meetings,’ which he is occasionally also late for, and hours during which he is meant to be at the club and sometimes is.

He is generally more respectful of _Adam’s_ schedule, though, and that’s why Adam worries.

Adam’s schedule is technically flexible, given enough warning. He used to keep it in his head, and now he keeps it on the fridge in their new apartment, so that Nigel can check it and remember that Thursdays are grocery days and Mondays are for laundry, that if Adam doesn’t eat dinner at six he will get hungry and grumpy and what Nigel calls ‘mouthy.’

Adam sometimes suspects that Nigel likes him ‘mouthy,’ but Adam likes a lot of things about his husband that most people would find odd, so he supposes that’s fair.

The new apartment is bigger than it needs to be, in Adam’s opinion, and ‘not nearly what my darling deserves,’ in Nigel’s. They have two entire guest bedrooms, and Nigel insists it’s so that they can have sex as loudly and messily as they want (there does not seem to be anyone living in the neighboring apartments, and Adam is suspicious about that), and still sleep somewhere dry and clean without doing laundry at 2 in the morning. This makes sense for the second bedroom, but Adam knows that the third bedroom is actually for Beth or Harlan if ever they visit, and he’s quietly grateful for it.

The kitchen is bigger than either of them really need, too, given that neither of them is a particularly skilled cook. Adam could be, but he’s picky, and while he will try new things if Nigel insists on it, he rarely finds something new that doesn’t scrape at his distaste for textures or strong spices. So he makes a few lightly seasoned meals, and even learned a recipe for a soup that Nigel can’t get enough of. Nigel makes two traditional Romanian dishes his mother passed on to him, a chili that Adam won’t eat, and pasta. Together, they don’t starve, but nor do they need the sheer amount of gleaming marble counter space or the island that just gets in the way.

The couch that you can sink into and which holds them both snuggled together with room to spare for ‘mischief’ is pretty nice, though, as is the excessively large TV that Adam can hook his laptop up to and stare at new Jupiter photos in more pixels than they were meant to have.

But right now, Nigel is late. Nigel is late and Adam is home alone in the big, huge, impossibly empty apartment, and he knows he shouldn’t but he starts to worry. He always starts to worry. It’s just who he is.

There are rules to their relationship. Those are not on the fridge, though Nigel has joked about putting them there. Adam found rules useful for stability long before Nigel, but having Nigel there to enforce them made it even better. There’s someone else to hold Adam accountable, and keep him going. Someone else to reward or punish depending on how well Adam is doing. Adam likes rewards- he’s especially fond of the chocolate that Nigel special-orders for him and then feeds him by hand- but he thinks he might actually like the punishments better. Before, the consequences for breaking a rule involved messing up the schedule, sending Adam off kilter, his mind spinning out of control. Now, consequences were a bit more physical. And they didn’t spiral.

Adam knew that most people found pain and control in a relationship uncomfortable or even frightening. Adam, however, had never felt safer than when he had Nigel’s hands on him, or Nigel guiding him through what to do.

Nigel had read a book on it once, which he said hadn’t been very good. He bought the movie to share with Adam, and according to him, that hadn’t been much better. Adam hadn’t liked it.

He’d liked what Nigel had learned from it, though. How to do things properly. That BDSM had rules and guidelines you should follow. Nigel was much more comfortable if he felt like he was taking care of Adam correctly, and Adam was just happy to have more of Nigel’s attention.

So, rules. Some basic: _Listen to Nigel, answer when Nigel calls._ Others make Adam’s friends uncomfortable, though Adam loves them.

_Don’t leave the apartment without Nigel’s permission. **Never** leave the apartment alone. Take your goddamn gun with you, Adam, if I have to tell you one more time I swear…_

Adam was never going to take the gun with him. He wasn’t even entirely sure where it was; Nigel had put it away somewhere safe the last time he’d cleaned it, and Adam hadn’t been paying attention. It didn’t matter. Adam liked rules. He liked consequences and rewards. He liked _Nigel_ , and having all of his husband’s intense concentration focused on him.

But leaving the apartment to hunt down his wayward spouse would be breaking three of their rules, all at once. Especially since Adam can’t find the gun. Three rules, and all about Adam’s personal safety, which Nigel took very seriously. Adam had been mugged and beaten once, and Nigel had never quite gotten over it, even when Adam himself no longer freaked out when passing dim alleys. There was a chance that this would not lead to the sort of punishment Adam relished.

But Adam was hungry, and Nigel was _late_ , and therefor this was technically entirely Nigel’s fault to begin with.

Nigel had wanted to get Adam out of Bucharest entirely, out to the sort of large, excessive house that came with ‘acreages.’ Adam had quit his old job on Nigel’s request, a job he did not particularly like to begin with, and now worked mostly from his laptop on projects that he suspected Nigel had a hand in finding for him. He could have worked anywhere, but he liked Bucharest. He liked being close to groceries and the rare restaurant he enjoyed. He liked that Nigel normally came home very quickly after work.

Barring the ability to leave Bucharest, Nigel had instead planted them in an apartment within two blocks of the strip club that formed a front for whatever it was Nigel and Darko actually did (Adam had a general idea that it involved large amounts of cocaine and violence, and had not made any effort to get any further information). Nigel said that it offered them both more protection, as anyone who trailed them might assume they were headed to the club. Adam personally found it unlikely that any competition for Nigel’s career would be so sloppy, but it seemed to make Nigel feel better to think so.

The club gets very busy in the evenings. Very, _very_ busy. Adam doesn’t like the noise, or the crowds, the way people press against him and touch and laugh and occasionally spill beer onto his shoes. He’s learned to get used to it, though. Usually, the bouncers wave him through the door and he goes right back to the offices, but the girls like him, and sometimes he has to go backstage and talk to them for a bit or they get ‘pouty,’ according to Nigel. The girls are nice. They call him ‘Nigel’s sweet thing’ and a series of Romanian endearments Adam doesn’t understand, having never gotten around to learning Romanian. They bring him sodas and snacks from behind the bar and keep him company when Nigel is too busy to come back and talk to him right away.

Today, Sorina meets him halfway through the club. She doesn’t speak any English, and Adam’s understanding of Romanian is mostly limited to cursing, and so she is his favorite. She hands him a hefty pint of soda and shoulders people away from him until he is safely back in the hallway that leads to the offices. She skips the usual meeting rooms and takes Adam right back to Nigel’s office, gesturing the door and saying ‘cocaină’ with a roll of her eyes. This is another word Adam recognizes. It explains a lot, and also irritates him.

There are things that Adam understands. He understands that Nigel works a dangerous, illegal job that he would rather not tell Adam much about, but which at the very least involves large amounts of cocaine. He understands that sometimes, Nigel has to make deals with people who don’t necessarily like him very much. And he understands that often, the best way to make a deal with someone who doesn’t like you is to get very intoxicated together, on whatever substance comes your way.

Adam _understands_ all of this, but he doesn’t _like_ it. If Nigel is regularly getting high, he hasn’t been doing it around Adam. He’s always tried to return to Adam completely clean, or at least coming down. Sometimes he’s a little drunk, but drunk Nigel is basically regular Nigel with a lot more sexual innuendo, so Adam can handle that.

Twice in the past four months, though, Nigel has come home in a state that Adam doesn’t recognize. Like Nigel, but _more_. Too excitable, too handsy, laughing loud and bright and making plans he will never follow through on. Adam loves him, regardless, but he hates change without warning, and trying to fit a wild, euphoric Nigel into his life makes him uncomfortable in ways he can’t fully identify. He thinks it would be fine, if he could plan ahead for it. Could even be exciting, to have Nigel so wild and insatiable and very in love with him. But there is no planning, no warning. Just Nigel, high and delighted.

And now, Nigel hasn’t come home at all, and Adam has gone from exasperated and irritated, to outright _pissed._ He is not typically the bossy one in their relationship. He defers to Nigel and lets Nigel make their decisions, even when Nigel is drunk or vibrating from the drugs in his system. He lets Nigel do anything he wants with Adam, but in return, Nigel is meant to follow _Adam’s_ rules. The small handful of things that Adam _needs_ to function. His schedule. The very particular sheets that Adam requires for their bed. And never, ever changing things without warning, without at least a _phone call_.

Adam does not knock. If, somehow, this meeting is _still_ going on, well… By now, everyone in Bucharest knows about Adam, much as Darko had begged Nigel to keep his sexuality quiet, and Adam knows the men laugh off ‘angry, prissy wives,’ or at least they do for Darko’s wife, Teodora. No one will hold Adam’s actions against Nigel.

Nigel’s office is soundproofed, which Adam knows well. When he opens the door, the vague murmuring he’d heard through it becomes loud, raucous laughter. Everything smells like cigarettes, or the thicker smell of cigars. Nigel’s office isn’t ventilated, and the smoke hangs heavy in the room.

There are four men in the room, two of them strangers. Darko gives Adam a grimace when he sees him, glances at his watch, and then turns his irritated stare on Nigel instead.

Nigel had been mid-laugh when Adam opened the door. He’s sprawled on the floor, having given up the couch to guests. Adam suspects he started out sitting straight and sank lower and lower as the night went on. There’s a crust of white around his nostrils, and lines still left on the table. He looks confident, ecstatic, far too happy for a man who is so very _late_.

Adam wonders if he is ‘the very picture’ of an angry, uptight wife. If that is why the men he doesn’t know leer at him, why Darko is glaring so much at Nigel. Nigel, at the very least, looks ecstatic.

“Adam!” He crows, “Baby, c’mere!” He pats his thigh, as if Adam is going to get down onto the sticky floor and crawl into his lap. Adam puts his hands on his hips like he’s seen Teodora do. One of the strange men laughs and shouts something in Romanian, or possibly Russian. Adam speaks neither, and is not paying enough attention to spot the differences. He is staring down Nigel, who puts on what might be a guilty expression. Adam isn’t good at faces, but he knows this is not the face _Nigel_ makes when he’s guilty. Possibly, it is an act for Adam’s benefit, and that only serves to irritate him further.

Nigel says something back to the men. Darko, the only person who Adam likes today, translates. “They told him he is in the doghouse, tonight,” he explains to Adam, “And he agreed, the drunken asshole.”

“Hey,” Nigel protests, as if he is _not_ wobbling as he tries to stand. They do not have a doghouse, because they do not have a dog and live in a third floor apartment in an empty apartment building with no yard. The couch, maybe, except Adam has never been angry enough at Nigel to punish _himself_ , and he likes to be held while he sleeps.

“You’re late,” Adam finally tells Nigel. Nigel stumbles gracelessly over to him, still beaming his excited smile.

“I know,” he says, though he clearly didn’t until Adam said something, “I know, baby, I’m sorry. Just give me five minutes, darling, five minutes to finish up this business meeting.”

“Three,” Adam barters, since it is less a business meeting and more of a party, at this point.

“Three,” Nigel agrees, cupping Adam’s face in his hands, “My gorgeous, bossy little thing.” He plants a kiss on Adam’s lips. Adam lets him, even though he tastes like cigar and beers and still has cocaine smeared under his nose. Adam lets Nigel do a lot of things he wouldn’t let anyone else do. Marriage has been very weird, so far.

And then the door slams shut and Adam is alone again and he remembers that he’s _angry_.

This time, he manages to stay angry when Nigel returns (after what is more like eight minutes, but Nigel is always worse with short time frames than long ones), all the way through the bar and down the street towards their building. Nigel follows at a distance, clearly understanding that Adam is upset, although knowing Nigel in this state, he hasn’t figured out why yet.

“Baby,” Nigel says, crowding up behind Adam as he fumbles with his keys, “Darling. Angel. Sweetheart.”

He runs through all his favorite pet names, terms Adam usually likes but now make him feel like Nigel has forgotten his _actual_ name. Adam huffs his way into the building and up the stairs to their apartment, ignoring both Nigel’s next attempts (“Gorgeous, Love,”) and the elevators. He knows them both. If he traps himself in an elevator with Nigel, Nigel will kiss his neck and nip at his ear and say how sorry he is for something he hasn’t even figured out yet, and Adam will _forgive him_ , and he doesn’t feel like doing that right now.

Nigel finally hits on “Adam” right about the time Adam works his way out of his shoes and marches off towards the kitchen to reheat dinner. It’s not going to taste as good, now, but Nigel will eat anything, and Adam can always have mac and cheese. He doesn’t even _like_ pork chops, but he learned to make them for Nigel. Well, Nigel can have them all tonight.

“Oh,” Nigel says, watching Adam shove a plate into the microwave. “Oh, Adam, I’m sorry.”

Well, at least he’s figured it out by now. Adam pulls out one of the mac and cheese boxes he’s learned to tolerate since moving here and slams a pot of water onto the stove.

Nigel crowds up against his back again, his hands on Adam’s hips, his nose buried in Adam’s curls. “Talk to me, gorgeous.”

“There’s no point in talking to you when you’re like this,” Adam says irritably, “You’ll just get worked up about it, and you probably won’t even remember it in the morning.”

“I’m not _that_ drunk,” Nigel insists. Adam grumbles wordlessly. “Alright,” Nigel tries again, “Then yell at me, baby, tell me how badly I messed up. Get it all out.”

Nigel is always, _always_ too much like this. More pet names than Adam can keep track of. Thinking he can solve everything if he just pokes and prods enough. The microwave beeps.

“Your dinner’s done,” Adam says, relieved. He just wants to cook in peace, and then go to bed in peace.

“You take such good care of me.” Nigel’s arms slide around Adam’s waist, pulling him back against Nigel’s chest. “And what do I give you in return?”

 _That_ is probably unfair, even Adam knows. Nigel is, most of the time, an excellent husband. He knows Adam inside and out, can predict Adam’s moods before he knows them himself. It’s just days like _this_ …

Nigel’s nose nuzzles up under Adam’s jaw, soft kisses against sensitive skin that can almost make Adam forget his rumbling stomach.

“No. Nigel, stop it.”

Suddenly, the arms around his waist shift. One hand grips his jaw tight, tilting his head back to expose his throat. The other covers his belt buckle, a promise of more that Adam isn’t ready to receive.

“Oh, is that the game you want to play tonight?” Nigel whispers in his ear, teeth tugging at the lobe. It’s the voice Adam likes best, heady and smoke-roughened. It rasps over Adam’s skin, hot breath against his neck, and he _wants_ but he doesn’t, conflicting and angry desires.

“Nigel, stop!” This is a downside Adam hadn’t predicted when they first started these games; that Nigel could ever look at him and not tell the difference between arousal and genuine frustration. Nigel’s hand slips down to his throat and constricts, just the tiniest bit, sending sparks through Adam’s body.

They have a word for this, and Adam will use it if he has to, but he’s _never_ had to before. Nigel has never misread him so badly, and it rekindles the fury Adam had started the night with. The pot on the stove boils over. Adam curses and steps back, shoving Nigel back away from the stove and grinding the heel of his socked foot into Nigel’s toes.

“Ow! What the _fuck_ , Adam?”

“Your dinner is ready.” Adam steps neatly out of Nigel’s grasp, fiddling with the stove settings until the pot is back down to a reasonable boil. He jabs his wooden spoon towards the microwave, where the screen is still flashing.

He doesn’t see what face Nigel makes in response, but he probably wouldn’t have understood it anyway. Nigel feels too many conflicting things all at once, worse than any person Adam has ever met. He laughs when he’s angry and yells when he’s sad. Adam has seen him threaten a man with a smile on his face.

When Adam finally finishes his mac and cheese and joins him at the table, though, Nigel is frowning. Jabbing at his reheated pork chop, he looks up at Adam with an expression that seems absolutely miserable to Adam.

“I upset you,” Nigel says.

“Yes.” Adam has never shied away from honesty, even when Nigel is half-gone, ‘out of his head,’ as Darko says. Nigel can accept the truth or be angry, and those have always been the only two options Adam can abide.

Nigel isn’t angry. He looks down at his food again, and then up at Adam. “Can I make it up to you?”

Adam chews quietly. He wants, for a minute, to say no. To be angry, and live in that anger, and let it swell inside him until he’s screaming.

“In the morning,” he says instead, and Nigel looks so pleased that Adam knows he’s made the right decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Note About The Tags: You may notice one particular tag that sets a lot of people's teeth on edge. Yes, this fic will contain infidelity. Yes, this fic will involve _recovering_ from infidelity, as a couple. If that is not your thing, that is fine! but please, _please_ don't pop into my inbox complaining about them getting back together. You were warned ahead of time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings at the end, as always!

In the morning, Nigel slides from the bed first. This almost never happens, even though he works and Adam does not. Nigel is used to hangovers, though. Adam hears him in the bathroom, taking his aspirin and brushing the taste of cigars and beer from his mouth. He’s back before Adam has fully roused, peeling the sheets back to press kisses to Adam’s throat.

Adam is in a much better mood now. Nigel, sober, is the man he fell in love with, the man he married. There is no reason to hold on to anger when the person he is angry with has faded along with the effects of the alcohol. Still… “I haven’t brushed my teeth,” he complains when Nigel goes for his mouth, squirming underneath his attentions.

“I like you as you are.” Nigel nuzzles up under his jaw, playfully nipping at the sensitive space beneath it. Adam shivers.

“ _I_ don’t,” Adam insists, nudging Nigel off of him. Nigel trails him all the way to the bathroom, though Adam shuts him out to take care of his morning routine. When he opens the door again, Nigel is still there, hoisting Adam up and over his shoulder before Adam can blink.

“Nigel!” He protests, laughing. Nigel swats his backside once, sharp enough to redirect Adam’s focus entirely.

“I promised you, didn’t I? Can’t make it up to you if you’re wandering off.”

“Am I in trouble now, too?” Adam teases. Nigel lays him back out on the bed, crawling over him and pinning him down with his body.

“No, darling,” Nigel assures him, mouthing his way along Adam’s jaw, “No consequences for dragging me out of my own mess.” When he goes for a kiss, however, Adam turns his head, and pouts up at him.

This had taken some practice. Artifice does not come easy to Adam, but Nigel likes some of it. He likes when Adam play-acts at spoiled, or sleepy, or even scared sometimes. Anything that gives him more of an excuse to trail his big hands over Adam’s body and map out each inch. Adam tries to give him that, tilting his head back, eyes wide, corners of his mouth tugged down. Nigel holds him by the hair to steal a kiss anyway, and laughs.

“What’s that face, then?” He’s catching on to the game, happy to indulge Adam in his whims but always making him work for it.

“I went out alone,” Adam reminds him.

“I know, baby,” Nigel murmurs into his jaw, “That’s my fault, I’m sorry. I should have been home.”

“It was after dark.”

“Just a block or so, not even you can find yourself trouble in two blocks.” Nigel nips at his throat, the tip of his tongue running over an old bruise.

“I didn’t bring the gun.”

In a single moment, the game is over, as Adam knew it would be. Nigel’s face goes hard, stiff. He flips Adam onto his stomach, his hand smacking down against the seat of Adam’s pajamas.

“How many times, Adam? How many times do I have to repeat this lesson?” Another strike to the back of one of Adam’s thighs. Adam’s breath leaves him in an excited rush, muffled against his arm.

Adam doesn’t think Nigel understands, sometimes. Adam finds pain arousing, but it’s not always arousal he seeks. Sometimes it’s this: Nigel’s attention, his care. He wants Nigel to be upset with him when he’s been disobedient, because he wants Nigel to care enough to set the rule in the first place. And he wants the relief, when it’s over, when his body is stinging and screaming and Nigel scoops Adam up and lets him cry, kisses his cheek and tells him its all forgiven.

So, when Nigel drags Adam to his feet and bends him over the bed, tugging Adam’s sleep pants down around his ankles and storming off to the closet for a belt, Adam hides a smile in the sheets. He knows that Nigel is genuinely upset this time, but the punishment will be cathartic for him as well. A clean slate for them both.

“Every time,” Nigel says, and the first stripe lands flat across both cheeks, aim dead center, lifting Adam up onto his toes with a startled gasp. “Every _fucking_ time we have this conversation, don’t we, Adam?”

“Yes, Nigel,” Adam answers dutifully, his voice breaking at the tail end of a second stripe, diagonal across the first.

“How many more times? Do I have to brand it into your skin? Chain you to the bed so you _can’t_ leave without it?”

Adam stifles a breathless giggle into the bedsheets; He knows it’s unfair of him, he knows Nigel’s distress is genuine, but he loves every second of this. The burst of painful heat across his skin, Nigel’s lecture full of ridiculous threats he’ll never go through with.

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” Nigel mutters. Adam has tried to explain how unlikely that is, but Nigel’s fears are never very rational. There’s no time to explain now, as Nigel whips the back of Adam’s thighs and pulls a yell from him.

Adam’s hard, trapped between the sheets and his own belly. He won’t seek relief; Nigel didn’t mean this punishment to be pleasurable, though Adam always finds pleasure in pain. Instead, Adam waits, barely able to contain himself as Nigel floods him with heat.

Eventually, Nigel stops, the sound of his panting loud in the room, thoroughly entwined with Adam’s pulse racing in his ears. “God _fucking_ damn it, Adam,” he gasps. .The belt hits the floor and Nigel drapes over him, mouthing at the nape of Adam’s neck, rutting against the painful welts he’s left.

“In,” Adam pleads, nails digging into the bedsheets, “Nigel, need you in me.”

Nigel swears. His cock rubs over Adam’s entrance, dry and tight and Adam almost doesn’t care, even though he knows it won’t be half as nice as it is in his head.

Nigel pulls away with a sharp smack over the worst of the bruises, pulling a cry from Adam. “Stay,” he demands, and Adam is stone, still and frozen and _waiting_.

They have a rhythm now, they know all the ways they fit together. When Nigel finally slicks himself and works his way inside, in short, shallow thrusts that steal the breath from Adam’s chest, it feels like comfort. Safety.

Nigel’s hands slide along his arms, pinning Adam to the bed, fingers twining together. This is how Adam likes it best, when it’s intimate and close, when even the rough thrusts feel romantic, when Nigel is panting just as hard as Adam is.

Pleasure shared is ten times better than it ever was alone. After, Nigel hauls him up the bed, cleans him with a damp cloth and rubs lotion over his bruises. Adam smiles up at him and gets a grin in return, because Nigel can never remember why he’s angry for long, not when they can tangle up in each other like that.

“I got you a present.” They’ve been laying there for an age, Nigel’s hand softly trailing up and down the curve of Adam’s spine. Adam is half asleep, soothed by Nigel’s touch and heat and scent, but the word ‘present’ is one that immediately draws his attention.

“Is it from the list?”

They’d made the list together, both of them half-drunk one night even though Adam usually avoided over-indulgence in alcohol. They’d had whispered and giggling conversations about the sorts of things they wanted to try, things they would never, ever try, and eventually they had the list. They’d only crossed a handful of things off so far, but Nigel is grinning and Adam knows they’re about to cross off another.

The selection is obvious the moment Adam opens the box, though the Romanian writing on the sleek black packaging is meaningless to him. He understands the metal frame, the tiny padlock.

Chastity had been Adam’s idea, but it had taken root in Nigel quickly. More than once, he’d brought Adam to his peak with whispered suggestions that every wave of pleasure could be his last.

“I thought it would be better to spring it on you after an orgasm,” Nigel says with a laugh. “It’ll keep you thinking of me when I’m not around. Maybe you’ll even learn not to wander off without your gun.”

Nigel’s look is pointed, but his good humor doesn’t fade. The belt and the promise of chastity have both been enough for him.

Adam is practically wriggling in place. He loves moments like this, when Nigel reaches out and takes just a little bit more control over Adam’s life. He loves giving himself piece by piece to Nigel.

“You took the key already,” Adam says, fingering the tiny, open lock.

“I did,” Nigel confirms with a smirk. “I’ve got it in my wallet. There’s a spare, of course-“

“I don’t want it,” Adam says immediately. Nigel rolls his eyes.

“Of course you don’t,” He mutters. Louder, he adds, “Non-negotiable. I don’t want to come home and find out your dick fell off because you couldn’t get out of it.”

It’s Adam’s turn to roll his eyes. Nigel is, on occasion, melodramatic, and a bit of a worrier. “My penis isn’t going to fall off, Nigel. I don’t want it. It won’t feel the same. There’s no point in you putting this on me if I know I can take it off whenever I want.”

“Not if you don’t want more stripes, you can’t.”

“ _Nigel_.” Adam is not at all ashamed of the slight whine that tilts his words. Nigel folds easily if Adam is careful, if he looks genuinely upset or irritated. “It’s not the same. You know it’s not the same.”

Nigel sighs and leans back hard enough to thunk his head against the wall. He doesn’t seem bothered. Sometimes Darko claims Nigel’s skull is made of iron, too thick for anything to penetrate, including logic. “A compromise,” he finally says, and Adam straightens up to give Nigel his full attention. Nigel’s idea of compromise can often be coerced until it tilts heavily in Adam’s favor. “I’ll hide the key somewhere in the apartment. I won’t tell you where. That way, if you ever need it, you can text me and I’ll tell you. And even if something happens and I can’t answer, you stand a chance of being able to find it anyway.”

Adam mulls this over for a minute, trying to decide if there’s something more he could ask for, or, perhaps, if he might be able to tempt Nigel into keeping the key anyway. He decides it’s unlikely; Nigel is generally firm on the subject of Adam’s safety and well-being. Adam spent several months with a very overworked man whose sole job was to ferry Adam to and from work, and to sit in the parking lot in case he was needed, including following Adam to lunch at a safe distance.

He should probably ask after Marco’s well-being since Adam quit. It would be the polite thing to do.

“Deal,” Adam finally says. Nigel grins and takes the box from his hands.

“Ready, darling?”

Adam wants it. He wants it so badly it aches, so badly that Nigel starts to laugh, cupping his chin and rubbing a thumb over his cheek.

“Keep that up,” Nigel says, nodding towards Adam’s lap, “And we’ll never get it on you.”

Somehow, they manage. With fumbling hands and a bit of laughter, and a sharp pinch to Adam’s thigh that makes the situation worse, rather than better.

The metal is heavy and cool, though quickly warming with Adam’s body heat. It looks a little unusual, snug and small between his thighs where there would usually be flesh, but it gives Nigel a hungry look in his eyes that Adam always loves to cause.

“It’s going to be distracting,” Adam says. Nigel hums, wordless at first, and then reaches out to cup Adam. Adam can feel the heat of his palm between the bars, the slight tug at his balls as his cock tries to harden and meets only constriction. Adam’s breathing wavers.

“For you or for me?” Nigel ask, breathless as he mouths over Adam’s jaw.

They can’t manage another round, not quite. Nigel isn’t as old as he likes to pretend he is, but he’s still a man in his early forties, and Adam is in his thirties. Neither of them are teenagers anymore.

But they can play. Nigel can press Adam back into the bed, slotting his body between Adam’s thighs and rocking his hips down against the metal cage.

“Nigel,” Adam whines, trembling as Nigel reaches for the lube. Nigel laughs at him.

“Oh no, darling. This was _your_ idea. You signed up for torture, and that’s what I’ll give you.”

Slick fingers ease their way inside of him, curled to tease at his prostate. Adam squirms and gasps, cock pressing against the bars of the cage.

It’s uncomfortable. Tight, and cruel, as Nigel’s fingers grow rougher, as he forces high cries from Adam’s lips. It almost hurts, pressure building up with nowhere to go.

It’s perfect.

Nigel fucks him with his fingers until tears spill over, until he’s leaking through the cage and it hurts it hurts it _hurts_.

Adam comes back to himself when Nigel rubs both hands over his thighs, kissing the side of his knee, nuzzling sensitive skin. It’s not an orgasm, not quite. He can still feel the burning need low in his belly. But it’s a relief in its own way, a release. He knows, sudden and sure, that he’s going to _love_ this, that he’s going to crave it the way he craves every part of Nigel.

“Do you have to go to work today?” He asks, voice soft. Nigel tugs him closer, pulling one of Adam’s legs up around his hips until they are pressed thoroughly together.

“I do,” Nigel murmurs up against his jaw, “But I was thinking I’d take some time off, soon. A vacation, yeah? You and me?”

They haven’t been on a real vacation since their honeymoon, bounding across Europe for weeks until Adam finally missed home too much to stay away. Adam squirms a little, delighted.

“The beach?”

“You hate the beach.”

“I hate when you let me fall asleep and I get sunburnt and there’s sand in our suitcases. But I like the waves. I liked looking for shells with you.”

“The beach, then,” Nigel says, in between more soft kisses. He alternates between tearing Adam to pieces and holding him like some delicate porcelain thing. It makes something warm flutter in Adam’s chest. Love, he knows now, though he couldn’t always have recognized it. “I’ll tell Darko he can kiss my ass and take care of shit on his own for a while.”

“Don’t tell him that,” Adam says automatically. “I hate it when you fight with Darko. You mope.”

“I do _not_ mope!”

“You do,” Adam tells him with a wide, fond smile. “You do, he’s your best friend. Be nice to him.”

“Adam, darling, if I start being _nice_ to Darko, he might start to think something’s wrong. Don’t scare the poor bastard like that.”

Adam laughs, and Nigel kisses the smile from his lips, until they are wrapped up in each other again and he is very nearly late for work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Chastity, Belts, Discipline.
> 
> Adam definitely is on board with the situation and thinks he has everything under control, but you should never EVER punish a partner while genuinely angry, regardless of safewords or dynamics. THESE TWO ARE NOT GOOD AT BDSM DO NOT COPY THEM.
> 
> Infidelity is next chapter. Prepare yourselves.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilery warnings in end notes.
> 
> Thanks to shoegazerx on IG and posey_blue on twitter for helping me figure out some linguistics issues with whether Nigel would be more likely to use American or British English- they're fries, not 'chips.' (or crisps, as I mistyped, which is AN ENTIRELY DIFFERENT THING)
> 
> EDIT: Upon first posting there was a REALLY silly formatting error for several paragraphs. I do not know how or WHY but it's fixed now.

For a while, Nigel comes home on time.

He is the very picture of a dutiful husband. The perfect ‘Dominant,’ though neither he nor Adam has ever actually used that term for him.

He has Adam kneel between his knees and hand feeds him his favorite chocolates. He fucks Adam’s throat until he’s rasping with every word, and grinning the whole time, fucking masochist. He beats him for punishment and for pleasure.

Adam wears the cock cage for two days at a time, then four, then a week. Nigel learns to make him come even with it, and then again, and again, because Adam can’t seem to stop once he’s started.

“It’s not like a real orgasm,” he tells Nigel when they are settled in the bath together. “There is a peak, but no crash. It goes up and up but doesn’t relieve me.”

His cheeks are pink, but since Nigel’s boy doesn’t get embarrassed, Nigel can only assume he’s let himself drift back into memory. Nigel tucks his nose into the damp curls at the nape of Adam’s neck. “Tell me more.”

“It’s overwhelming,” Adam whispers, his breath catching when Nigel’s hand slips between his thighs and wraps around his cock. “I’d rather come like that than not at all, but the more days I wear the cage, the worse it gets, until every time you touch me, I can barely stand it.”

“Good,” Nigel murmurs, and rewards him.

Nigel follows all the rules. He comes home on time. He takes Adam to the grocery store on the days they’re supposed to go to the grocery store. He loves Adam, inside and out, as thoroughly as he can.

But he cannot change his job.

He knows it bothers Adam when meetings come up unexpectedly. He likes having days to prepare, but sometimes, Nigel gets only hours. Adam flits around the apartment, a nervous mess, knowing he has only limited time with Nigel and therefor unable to enjoy any of it. The countdown is already ticking in his mind, Nigel is well aware.

With an hour to go, Nigel gives up on distracting Adam with television or with sex. When Adam tries to make dinner at four in the afternoon, Nigel pulls him back from the cabinet, nipping at his throat.

He reaches between Adam’s thighs to cup the cage, heavy in his slacks. “Restless, baby?” he whispers.

Adam makes a sound, high, needy.

“I’ve got you,” Nigel says. He nips at Adam’s ear, feels him sink back.

Nigel has never been good at very many things in his life. He’s a bad, bad man. He finished high school only because it had been easy and had let himself fall immediately after.

Nigel is good at drugs, at deals, at guns. And Adam. Nigel is fucking _fantastic_ at Adam.

It helps that Adam is so easy. Wherever Nigel guides him, he goes. When Nigel binds him to the bed on his belly, he relaxes as if every one of his strings has been cut.

And when Nigel brings the thin, flexible leather strap down over his ass, Adam screams like he’s never felt anything better. Or worse.

Nigel beats him cherry red, until Adam’s screams switch to moans, and then to gasping, panting quiet. He rubs his hands over the curve of Adam’s ass, sprawling out beside him to massage him while he cries.

“Better, baby?” Nigel whispers.

Adam sucks in a breath, and then another. He’s wordless, beyond conversation, but he blinks at Nigel when Nigel unties him, and his eyes are so wide and blue and trusting.

Adam says nothing for a long time. Nigel is definitely going to be late, but it’s his fucking club. They can have all the drink and girls they like, if it means he can have a few more minutes to take care of his husband.

“Deep breaths,” Nigel says. Adam squeaks when Nigel rubs cold lotion into his welts. “Baby, I need you to come back to me. Can’t go out when you’re like this.”

“…didn’t go anywhere,” Adam finally breathes. Nigel laughs, relieved.

“You did,” he tells Adam. “You were out in space without me, iubițél.”

“Wasn’t,” Adam insists, his face scrunched up. He’s adjusted to Nigel’s oddities and turns of phrase, but he doesn’t _like_ them, that much is clear. Nigel kisses his pale, damp cheek.

“I have to go,” he whispers, hushing Adam’s unhappy whine with another kiss. “No, baby, I have to, you know that.”

Adam gives him a sullen glare. It looks pouty and petulant, rather than intimidating, and Nigel laughs.

“Got some instructions for you,” he says, ruffling Adam’s hair. “You fucking love those, yeah?”

Adam shrugs, not in the mood to agree with anything Nigel says.

“You’re gonna take a rest,” Nigel tells him. “Get a little nap in, or just lay here if you can’t. Twenty minutes minimum, Adam, got it?”

Adam nods.

“Then you’re gonna have a shower. Use that blue gel stuff that smells like fuckin’ sea salt or whatever. Get nice and clean so I can mess you up later, huh?”

That works a real smile from Adam. Nigel is _so_ good at his husband.

“Mac and cheese tonight,” Nigel continues. “I’ll bring you some fries, too, the greasy ones.”

“I don’t like the greasy ones,” Adam mutters, “I like the crispy bits at the bottom.”

Nigel grins. “Ah, _there’s_ my bossy husband, I was wondering what it would take to get you to talk to me.”

Adam flushes. Nigel flicks his nose playfully. “Mac and cheese,” he repeats. “Actor’s fucking _Studio_. And when all that’s done, I should be home. Just don’t rush through it, darling, take your time, and I’ll be back to tuck you into bed.”

“I’m not a child,” Adam reminds him with a grin, genuine, relaxed. Nigel leans in and kisses his forehead.

“Yeah, but you’re _mine_ ,” he whispers, enjoying the shudder it sends through Adam. “My responsibility. Mine to take care of. You got your tasks memorized?”

“Nap,” Adam replies dutifully. “Or quiet time. Shower, sea breeze shower gel. Mac and cheese for dinner, watch my show. You’ll be home in time for bed.”

Nigel kisses him again. “Clever, beautiful thing,” he whispers. “If you’re really good, I’ll let you come tonight.”

Adam’s helpless moan will linger in Nigel, push him through his awful night. Nigel steals another kiss. “Sleep, darling. I’ll be home soon.”

_____

If someone asked Nigel, later that night, he would blame it all on the fucking Russians.

No one ever _would_ ask Nigel, because Nigel had only one fucking friend and he and Darko could barely stand each other, but if they _had_ , it all could be traced squarely back to the Russians.

Nigel is already on edge when he arrives in the meeting room. He hates leaving Adam after a scene, but he would have hated more leaving him without anything to hold himself together.

Still, Nigel’s done the research. He knows he’s meant to provide all sorts of aftercare and shit, and he’s not quite satisfied with his ‘lotion and some chores’ routine, even if Adam seemed content. Being here, in a room full of enemies, is the last place Nigel wants to be when Adam is at home, pulling himself back together.

But the Russians can never stick to their own fucking territory, everyone knows that, so it’s not like Nigel can skip the meeting.

The Russians always put Nigel in a foul mood. They insist on holding business in English, even though Darko’s Russian is fine and Nigel’s is passable. They refuse to communicate in Russian if it’s less than perfect, and they won’t use Romanian because they think it gives Nigel an unfair advantage.

Perhaps English is their way of being kind, actually, so that _they_ don’t have an unfair advantage, but given that they have these little territory disputes five times a fucking year, Nigel isn’t feeling very congenial towards them.

Still, he does his best. Meetings mean booze, boobs, and blow, and within an hour, everyone is feeling a little calmer. Valyry no longer looks like he’s about to stab everyone in the face, which is always how he starts these meetings.

“We have brought a gift, my friend,” Valyry says, holding out a baggie.

They all bring gifts, when they meet. You can’t run a business meeting without buttering people up a little. Nigel and Darko deal in cocaine, primarily. Nigel won’t touch heroin; it makes good money but it’s too much downside, not enough pleasure, and he likes his customers happy, even if there’re too many of them now to know in person. Occasionally, they’ll do little test runs of other things, add in some samples for good customers, but they’ve got a good base in cocaine, and there’s no need to spread themselves too thin.

Valyry, Nigel knows, deals in whatever he can get his grubby little hands on. Pills, smack, fucking _pot_ like he’s a goddamn schoolboy. If Nigel has to do fucking _heroin_ for this deal, he’ll kill Valyry himself and start a gang war. Everyone knows what sort of gifts Nigel prefers.

But it’s a baggie of pills, thank god. Tiny and brightly colored. It’s been a long time since Nigel popped pills, but he’s always game. A little upper can really change the flow of conversation.

It also means that Valyry wants Nigel loose and pliant for their conversation, but that’s why he and Darko only ever do deals together. One bears the brunt of the presents, the other stays focused and slides their share over whenever they can.

Nigel has the higher tolerance. He rolls a little pink pill between his fingers and then pops it between his list.

“So,” he says, chasing the pill with a sip of beer. “About those trade routes.

_____

Another pill another bottle another pill another bottle. On and on it goes. Nigel swallows and swallows and laughs. Valyry is fucking hilarious when Nigel is too drunk to understand him. That’s how Nigel prefers his Russians: happy and barely intelligible.

“My friend,” Valyry says, “My friend, you are so very far gone.”

“Nah,” Nigel says, smacking his lips. “You should be so lucky.”

“Constitution of an ox, that one,” someone says. Maybe Darko. They sound sarcastic and irritated, so almost definitely Darko.

“Another for the road?” Valyry offers. “A celebration, of a deal well struck.”

Another pill, another bottle. Nigel is glad he and Darko spent two goddamn hours ironing out their negotiation plans, because he can barely tell his ups from his downs, at this point.

“Darko!” Someone yells in Russian. Darko’s name is the same in Russian, in English, in Romanian, but Nigel can hear self-righteous Russian dripping from every letter. “Take us to the floor, show us your wares.”

“If any of them will have you,” Darko says, and the whole room laughs.

Nigel grabs for Darko’s sleeve as he and a handful of men begin to walk buy. “Give ‘em a discount,” he mutters, “But pay the girls double.”

“Drink some fucking water,” Darko hisses back, “Before you fall asleep on the couch and your fucking _wife_ takes it out on both our hides.”

Nigel brushes him off. He doesn’t have a wife. He has _Adam._ Adam, who is perfect, and beautiful, and who will be upset if Nigel is late, of course, but will forgive him. Adam always forgives him.

It’s just Nigel, Valyry, and a handful of men on each side left. Just the muscle, not the brains, but enough for Nigel to be safe. After all, years-long trade agreements or not, you don’t leave the heads of rival gangs alone in a room. It’s just not done. They either fight or become the best of friends, both prospects equally terrifying.

“One more for the road, my friend?” Valyry offers.

Nigel hasn’t looked at the clock in ages. He doesn’t, now. He has that sense, low in his belly, that he is most definitely late already. He should call Adam.

He should have someone else call Adam. Adam doesn’t speak Romanian, and English is suddenly thick on Nigel’s tongue. He drags one of his men down to his level- Yusef? Yosef? …Saul? The new one. The one who speaks English and doesn’t look mildly uncomfortable when Adam shows up.

“Call my boy,” he says, low and slurred. “Tell ‘im I’ll be home after a nap.”

He _thinks_ Saul listens. He doesn’t stick around, that’s for sure.

“Just the one, then,” Valyry says, shaking out a pill for each of them. He’s nice enough to say it in Romanian, all taboo forgotten now that negotiations are over. “I too, have the spouse who waits up. Such is our life, isn’t it?”

Nigel shrugs, swallows the pill dry. “He’ll be upset,” he said, “But he knows how important these things are. He’s a good man. Better than me.”

Valyry laughs. “They are all better than us, aren’t they? I should put him in touch with the wife. He is entirely gay, is he not?”

Nigel’s face scrunches up. “We’re _bisexual_ ,” he says, drawing the word out. “But your wife is safe. Adam’s not the type. He won’t even notice her, not like that.”

“Bi _sexual_.” Valyry says, as if the word itself is a wonder. “The women, the men. The best of both worlds, ah, my friend?”

“You know it,” Nigel says, tipping his beer in Valyry’s direction.

He lays back on the couch, eyes closed. He can still feel the world moving, even so, but less, now.

Maybe time passes. Maybe it doesn’t.

“Another parting gift for you, my _bisexual_ friend,” Valyry says some time later. “The best we have to offer.”

Nigel has no context for that. He grunts his response. The door opens, the door closes. The room is finally, _finally_ quiet.

And then a soft weight settles across his lap. Not too heavy. Delicate, almost. Nigel’s hands find broad hips, a handful of curls.

God, he’s missed Adam. Adam is a fucking bright spot in Nigel’s shitty universe. He is the single fucking star in a cloudy night sky. The night has been long, and exhausting, and all Nigel wants is to get home and fuck his boy to sleep.

Lips part against his, welcoming Nigel’s searching tongue. Small hands undo the buttons of his shirt.

A little too small, the weight a little off. Nigel knows something is wrong, he knows it, but the mental effort of figuring out what is too much.

It is easier, to just ignore it. Easier to think Nigel is getting what he wants, because he always does. Easier to ignore the warning bells.

Later, Nigel will blame the fucking Russians, the fucking molly, the fucking booze, but he will remember this moment, the moment when he didn’t open his eyes. The moment he chose not to understand.

He gets his hands down the back of too-tight pants, clinging to a perfect ass. The body above his shivers.

“What the fuck.”

Flat. Not even a question, not really. A quiet, exhaled moment of baffled hurt.

Nigel opens his eyes. The girl above him, pretty, curved, her hair and eyes both the wrong color, turns to the door with her face scrunched up. She doesn’t speak English, but any working girl knows what it means to fuck.

“Thirty minute.” She says, her words slow and uncertain. Nigel shoves himself up, toppling her to the couch.

Adam hasn’t moved from the doorway. He stands there, still, frozen. He looks at Nigel.

He doesn’t yell, or scream, or cry. His face stays still and flat. Not even a frown. He looks completely blank, completely unaffected.

Nigel knows better. He knows his boy. The subtle shift of his shoulders as his breathing quickens. The white-knuckled fist on the doorframe. The tap of fingers in a pattern against his thigh.

Nigel knows what complete and utter devastation looks like on Adam, and he cannot move fast enough.

“Baby,” he whispers. “Angel, sweetheart.” He stumbles from the couch, reaching for Adam. “It’s not-“

He cannot even tell Adam it’s not what it looks like, even though it isn’t, it _really_ isn’t. Adam doesn’t wait to hear it.

He turns on his heel and runs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Drug and alcohol abuse (cocaine, beer, and molly on screen, mentions of heroin and pot), sex work (consensual, not named characters), rampant hatred of Russians for no reason. This is the infidelity chapter. It is mild, there is no intercourse, but it is from Nigel's POV and Nigel is justifying a lot of things to himself that shouldn't be justified, and that may be triggering or upsetting. 
> 
> Next time, they fight. Breathe, darlings, we are almost through the worst of it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DETAILED SPOILERY WARNINGS IN THE END NOTES followed by an important author's note.

Adam doesn’t run. It’s just not in his nature. He prefers to move steadily, conserving his energy for more important things.

He’s a hell of a power-walker, though. Nigel struggles to keep up with him, pushing through the crowd that spills out the door. It doesn’t help that Nigel’s head is spinning, that the walls wobble and pulse in time with the music.

Darko catches him at the door, one hand under Nigel’s elbow, the other on his shoulder, steadying him. He has a pinched frown on his face.

“The fuck did you do, asshole?”

“Nothing.” The word slips from Nigel automatically. Nothing, he did nothing, it wasn’t his fault. He was high as a kite, he hadn’t known, he would _never_ , and if Adam just lets him explain, he’ll understand.

“Nothing,” Darko mouths, disbelieving as he hauls Nigel off to the side, shoving him to support himself against a wall. “Nothing, nothing, that is why your Adam stops to yell at me. That is why he tells me to keep you here.”

“Keep me?” Nigel repeats, the words nonsense in his ears.

“’He can sleep in his office,’ he tells me. Your boy hasn’t slept alone since you met him.”

That isn’t quite right, but it’s true that Adam is restless on the nights Nigel comes in late, that once he was out until dawn and there was a line of tension in Adam’s sleeping form that didn’t relax until Nigel scooped up behind him and tucked his nose against Adam’s throat. Nigel shakes his head.

“I have to go.”

Darko frowns. He won’t stop Nigel, because they both know Nigel would barrel right through him, but for a moment it seems he wants to. Nigel stares him down.

“Maybe you shouldn’t,” Darko says slowly. “Maybe you should give your boy some time to calm down.”

“Maybe you should mind your own fucking business,” Nigel growls.

“I am only trying to help-“

But Nigel doesn’t _need_ help. He needs Adam, beautiful, wonderful Adam.

Adam makes it all the way home before Nigel catches up. He’s digging through every drawer in the house, it seems, their contents all over the floor. Nigel picks his way delicately past the pile of mail upended in the entryway, finding Adam in the kitchen, tossing things free of the junk drawer.

Adam locks eyes with him across the room, just for a second, before resolutely turning his back on Nigel to continue his search.

“What are you looking for, baby-“

“Get out,” Adam growls. Nigel stops short.

Adam has _never_ spoken to him like that. Never He doesn’t yell, unless he’s panicked or stressed, and even then it’s never directed _towards_ Nigel.

Nor does he give orders, and for a moment, Nigel’s irrational, addled brain zeros in on it. He can fix this if he takes back control, if he pushes Adam back into that gentle, obedient space.

So he tries, like a fucking idiot, without any real sense of a plan or what, exactly, he’s meant to be ordering Adam to _do._

“You don’t get to talk to me like that,” Nigel says, his voice firm and unwavering. Adam whirls on him, his face contorted into an unfamiliar fury.

“Don’t you _dare_ ,” he hisses. His face is red, his eyes wet. There are tear tracks on his cheeks, but it seems that he’s stopped crying, at least for now.

“Adam-“

“No!” Adam yells. “No, you don’t get to put your hands all over someone else and then come home and try to do that to me.”

“It wasn’t like that-“

“It was _exactly_ like that.” Overwhelmed with frustration, Adam yanks the entire drawer out of the cabinet, upending it over the kitchen counter. Keys, batteries, and receipts scatter everywhere. “I know what I saw, Nigel. I’m not stupid.”

Nigel deflects, because he always does, because sitting down and facing all the ways he fucked up just makes his head and heart ache. “What were you even doing there? You shouldn’t have left the apartment!”

“Then I guess you should have hit me harder!” Adam shrieks. “Left me stuck here, unable to do anything without you, that’s what you want, isn’t it?”

_Yes_. It is _exactly_ what Nigel wants, exactly the deepest, darkest desire he has, and he has tried so hard to balance out that desire with Adam’s health and happiness. Tried so hard not to be _that sort_ of man, the sort of man he has killed before on his girls’ behalf.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.” Fuck, Nigel doesn’t know what _he’s_ saying. It’s exactly the wrong way to talk to Adam, to belittle his own perspective like that.

But he’s not _listening_. He won’t let Nigel explain. Nigel doesn’t have a _choice_.

Adam has never looked so enraged as he does when he turns to face Nigel again, drawer still in his hands. “Where’s the key?” He growls.

“What?”

“The _key_ , Nigel. The key to the cage.”

Everything in Nigel tilts sideways.

Of all the things they share, the control Nigel has over Adam is sacred. Adam doesn’t fight, he doesn’t protest. He has never used his safeword, even when Nigel can see discomfort overwhelming him. He obeys always, and without question.

Nigel hardens, doubles down. It’s the only thing he knows how to do. He reaches for the control that is slipping from his grasp. Everything will be alright, if he can just bend the situation to his will. Bend _Adam_ to his will.

“I put it away,” Nigel says, straightening up. “You can have it when you calm down.”

“No,” Adam says. “No, I want it _now_ , Nigel.”

“That’s not how this works,” Nigel reminds him, “ _I_ decide—”

Adam hurls the drawer at Nigel’s head. It hits, stunning him more than hurting him, but it’s enough for Nigel to stagger backwards, for Adam to shove past him and storm off to the bedroom.

Adam finds the key in Nigel’s underwear drawer, tucked into a back corner. He already has his pants shoved down when Nigel catches up. Nigel’s head is spinning, and not just from the drugs and the drawer. Everything is moving too fast to keep up.

He grabs Adam by the arm, hauling him in close. “Don’t you dare.”

Adam wrenches himself backwards, fitting the key into the lock. The cage comes free easily, so quick considering the time and care Nigel put into securing it in the first place. “No,” Adam says, stepping back again when Nigel reaches for him, “don’t _you_ dare.”

“We have rules—”

“Fuck your rules!” The cock cage, too, gets flung at Nigel’s head, just barely missing its target. Thank god, because the firm metal probably would have broken his nose. “And fuck _you!”_

Adam is a creature Nigel doesn’t recognize, all claw and fang. Nigel finds himself staring as Adam hauls a dufflebag out from under the bed.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Nigel asks, as Adam begins to stuff clothes into the bag.

“I’m leaving,” Adam says stiffly. “Gabi will let me stay for a bit.”

This, _this_ is too much for Nigel. This is beyond anger, beyond disappointment. This is a resignation he can’t stand for.

Something white hot and dangerous bubbles within him, something he’s been stifling since the beginning. Something that scares Nigel, just a little bit. A loss of self-control, a madness he might not come back from. Between drugs, drink, and despair, Nigel doesn’t think he can hold it back anymore.

He doesn’t think he wants to.

“Like hell you are,” Nigel says, grabbing Adam by the arm again. Adam hisses in pain. Nigel’s grip loosens reflexively, but he doesn’t let go. “You think I’m just going to let you walk out in the middle of the night?”

“You don’t own me!”

But Nigel _does_ , or he thought he did. He thought that was the entire point to all of this. That Adam wanted to be kept, that Nigel wanted to keep him.

And the rage just keeps bubbling.

“You’re not leaving,” Nigel says, “I don’t care what I have to do to keep you here, I’ll—”

At one point, when Nigel first started having longer nights out, Adam had insisted on learning some self-defense. Nigel hadn’t wanted to teach him, first, because it meant Adam might feel too confident in a dangerous situation and try to fight his attacker instead of running.

But second, second, because the idea that Adam depended entirely on Nigel, that Nigel was the _only_ one who could keep him safe, could protect his darling… That intoxicating, overwhelming control…

But Adam had looked up at him with big, beautiful eyes, and Nigel had given in. Because he always tried to give Adam everything he wanted.

He had taught Adam himself, guiding him through quick motions. He had not expected, when he showed Adam these moves, that Adam would one day stomp hard on his foot and elbow him in the solar plexus.

Nigel drops, wheezing and gasping as Adam storms towards the closet. He’s barely managed to pull himself back to his feet, when Adam turns, gun in hand.

Adam’s gun shouldn’t _be_ in the closet, it should be in the hall by his coat, Nigel has told him a million _fucking_ times, he needs to carry it when he’s—

Adam raises the gun and aims it at Nigel’s head.

“I’m tapping out,” he tells Nigel. “This is me safewording.”

And that, more than the anger, more than the tears, more than the _fucking gun_ , stops Nigel in his tracks.

“Baby,” Nigel says gently, “sweetheart, think about what you’re doing.”

He’d taught Adam the basics. _Always check your safety. Every gun is loaded, even if you know for a fact it isn’t. Assume every shot is a deadly one, don’t aim at anything you wouldn’t want to ruin._

Adam thumbs the safety off. “I know what I’m doing,” he says. “I don’t know what _you’re_ doing, I don’t know why you’ve done all these things tonight, but I don’t like it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry _for_ , Nigel?”

Nigel freezes, a dear in headlights. He hasn’t finished processing it himself, he can’t say for sure what he feels guilty for, because everything from the past few hours is a messy blur in his head. Because he had a right, didn’t he? To Adam? He stopped when Adam tapped out, he stopped, he did, why does anything before matter?

_It matters, it matters, because Adam should never have had to ask—_

That thought hurts. Nigel stamps it down. “You don’t have to leave,” he says instead. Instead of forbidding it, instead of chaining Adam to the bed like he wants to. Nigel is _disgusted_ with himself for that brief stab of pride, that pleasure that whispers _see, you didn’t do that, so nothing is wrong._

“I’m going,” Adam says. “You can’t stop me.”

“I can’t,” Nigel agrees. He raises his hands, palm up, showing Adam he’s safe. “But I can go.”

Adam hesitates. His arms lower a fraction.

“You’d hate it at Gabi’s,” Nigel tells him. “You’d miss your things, your routines. Stay here. I’ll go to a hotel until we work things out.”

Adam looks skeptical. “You’ll go?” He asks. “You’ll leave the apartment, you’ll give me space?”

“Anything you want,” Nigel says earnestly. Because if Adam stays, then he’s safe. If Adam stays, Nigel can set men to watch the building, to protect Adam when Nigel isn’t there. If Adam stays, then Nigel can fix things.

“I want you to get out,” Adam says. “I want you to leave me alone.”

“I’m going,” Nigel says, “I’m gone. Just give me a few minutes to pack, you can have all the space you need.”

Nigel reframes it in his mind. This _is_ protecting Adam, taking care of him. He’s being a good husband. He’s not a bad man, he’s not the worst he sees in himself.

Adam lowers the gun. He doesn’t turn the safety back on. He backs up slowly, secluding himself in a corner so that Nigel can pack.

Nigel doesn’t waste time. He replaces Adam’s clothes with his own, hoisting the bag over his shoulder. When he turns to Adam, Adam raises the gun, just a little, almost instinctive. It hurts Nigel in ways he did not think he could ever be hurt.

Adam is _afraid_ of him. At least a little. Or at least, afraid that Nigel won’t leave. That Nigel will have _lied_ to him, when Nigel would _never_.

“Let me hug you,” Nigel says. His voice cracks. He feels dizzy, resentful, exhausted. He wants to hold his baby. He wants to tuck his face against those soft curls and reassure Adam that everything will be alright.

“No.” Adam shakes his head. “You said you would leave. Leave.”

Nigel stands there for a moment. As if Adam will change his mind. As if this is something that can be undone, in an instant.

“Leave,” Adam yells, and as Nigel watches, the tears return, bubbling over, spilling down his cheeks.

Nigel leaves.

_____

When it’s over, when the door slams shut, when the lock clicks into place, Adam collapses.

His arm hurts where Nigel grabbed him, too drunk or too high to reign in his strength. Or too _angry_. Nigel has always had a temper, Adam enjoys using it to his advantage. Never before has he been on the receiving end of Nigel’s ire in a way he didn’t specifically manipulate.

Adam lifts up his sleeve. Already, he can see the blossoming bruise in the shape of Nigel’s fingers, bruises he usually finds on his wrists or his hips. Never like this.

Everything has gone wrong. Everything has fallen apart. Adam feels nauseous. His head aches. He can’t make himself stand up. He can’t breathe.

He’d attacked Nigel. Before Nigel had ever laid a hand on him—and Nigel should _never_ have laid a hand on him—Adam had been the one to get violent, to throw things, to look at Nigel and hope he _hurt_.

Because Adam, Adam hurts. Adam hurts inside, where no amount of cream or ibuprofen can reach. Adam hurts _violently_ , Adam’s entire being has narrowed down to that little bit of pain. There is nothing else. There is no more to him.

He doesn’t call Gabi. He doesn’t call Beth, or Harlan either. He can’t bear to hear their sympathy. Gabi would want to come over. Charlie would offer to come with. And then there would be _people_ here, in the home Adam destroyed, in the home where Nigel _isn’t_.

Adam sleeps on the couch. He leaves the gun on the coffee table. He doesn’t know what worries him more, that Nigel might come back, raging, howling, reaching for Adam with that grip that is the wrong kind of painful…. Or that Nigel might never come back at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: remember the original Rulebreaker one-shot, where Nigel was implied to be a lot more controlling and possibly abusive than Changing The Rules Nigel turned out to be? Here we see a return of that Nigel. Nigel makes a LOT of bad choices in this chapter, including ones that would be huge red flags if these characters were real. He also justifies these actions to himself, which may be very triggering for some readers. SPECIFICALLY: he attempts to prevent Adam from removing the cock cage, attempts to gaslight Adam (very poorly), grabs Adam hard enough to bruise, and attempts to forbid him from leaving the apartment. This Nigel is closer to Canon than he's ever been, please read with caution.
> 
> (Adam also makes some bad choices. His actions are less upsetting because he is responding to Nigel's actions, but he gets physically aggressive with Nigel in a way that would be completely unacceptable in real life, and may be triggering. SPECIFICALLY: He throws several things at Nigel's head (one of which makes contact), strikes Nigel (this is in self-defense and COMPLETELY justified, but I thought I'd warn for the violence anyway), and aims a loaded gun at Nigel's head)
> 
> (If you read the Mail Order Daddy update, you have already read this end note and can skip it)
> 
> There are a few reasons for the delay. The first is that Real Life got in the way- the pandemic, mental health, work, real life hurdles. All of that delayed this by quite a bit.
> 
> The second is that I made the (both brilliant and completely stupid) decision to not update ANY of my WIPs until I could update ALL of them, as a way to urge me to finish chapters of other fics I was struggling with. Which meant that this chapter was finished probably two months ago and then held in limbo while I worked on Choices (and if you read choices, you'll know EXACTLY why it took so long in the recent chapter).
> 
> Guys, please don't leave comments asking when I'm going to update or if this fic is abandoned. I promise, if I ever abandon this fic, I'll let you know. The last time I was asked if a fic was abandoned, I had updated only two weeks previously. The last time someone asked me when the next update would be, it was the DAY AFTER I'd updated.
> 
> As for comments about how long it is between updates... trust me, I already know how long it's been, and I'm not any happier about it than you are. when every comment is about how long it's been, a) it's discouraging and b) it only adds to my guilt and makes it harder to write. I know it's been a while. I know. If you can't wait for updates and you decide not to read the fic anymore, I completely understand! But I really, really would like it if you would stop commenting on my update schedule. Several times I opened the docs only to close them again because I was so disheartened and didn't want to post because I didn't want to read so many comments about how long it had been. I'm so happy you love this story and want more of it, but please don't do that.


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